Petshop of Horrors: Distasteful
by Jeckle
Summary: Everyone has a secret shame buried inside themselves. But what secrets lurk behind the eyes of the people around you? Aren't you a little curious as to what sins weigh down the souls of your neighbor? Count D has just the pet for you...


Anna rolled the little green pill around between her fingertips, running her thumb over the serial number. It was the color of toothpaste... a sterile shade of pastel green, like floor tiles in a hospital lavatory. Victor watched her fiddle with the medication with his usual clinical detachment, "Anna... have you been taking your pills?"

Raising her eyes from her medication with the look of a whipped puppy dog, she whispered sheepishly, "I don't like them. They taste sour."

Anna had been something of an enigma since he'd taken up her case... a unique form of paranoid schizophrenia. She complained of nausea and a strange aftertaste that she could only describe as "sour". It was all psychological of course, but as of late, she had begun to grow worse refusing to eat anything. "The pills will make you get better, Anna. Don't you want to get well?"

She didn't waste her time answering the doctor's question as she turned her pale blue eyes towards Victor, whispering again, "They taste sour. Everything does..."

Anna hugged herself tightly, as if she were afraid she might fly apart should she let her guard down. Shivering despite the summer heat in the office, she peered out of the corner of her eye at Victor, whispering, "You'll make me better?"

Dr. Fortier had been scribbling in his notebook for the past half hour, the scritching of his pen across the paper echoing in his cramped office. It continued to scratch across the paper for another minute before he acknowledged the question with a bemused smile, setting down his notes, "Psychiatry doesn't work that way. I just listen to people, and help them help themselves, Anna."

Fidgeting nervously, Anna shivered again, resting her slim fingers over her mouth as if she were about to vomit, "I feel nauseous. I can... I can taste it again."

"It's all in your head Anne..." Victor assured her, patting his lap softly, a reassuring smile on his face, "Just lay you head down here and talk to me."

"About what?"

"Your secrets. Secrets are like mental... irritants. They cause infection, like any wound. If they aren't exposed... lanced, so to speak, they begin to fester. Even if you don't believe it, you'll feel better if you talk. Tell me about the aftertaste."

"... I can't remember what it was that I ate. I've had the taste for so many years now. I wish I hadn't eaten it, whatever it was."

In the heart of the city, you will find Chinatown, a strange and mysterious place where rare and valuable commodities are in abundance. Welcome to my petshop... tonight, you will find something that you desire...

Distasteful

A Petshop of Horrors Fanfiction

by Jeckle

Kim couldn't help but roll her eyes in disgust every time she stopped to think about how she'd wasted her New Years Eve. It had all begun when her jack-ass of a date had come an hour late to pick her up, totally embarrassing her in front of her parents!

Sure, it had seemed like a good idea to accept... Rick was in the "in"-crowd, just like her. Star defensive tackle, kind of cute in that toned kind of way... but Kim wasn't used to being inconvenienced.

With the evening already off to a poor start, Kim found herself floored by Rick's conversational skills. The grunt didn't seem to understand she wasn't interested in hearing about his scholarship opportunities, nor did she care just how many colleges wanted to pay for his education via his wrestling scholarship, so he could tackle sweaty men to the ground. The discussion was like a root canal with an ice pick, the torture only ending as they made it to the restaurant parking lot.

While dinner went off without any real problems, the no-necked goon took so long stuffing himself, that all of the parking was taken for the downtown parade. After two hours of circling, Mr. Class pulled the car off towards the seedier side of town. It was deserted and parking WAS abundant... but that was because everyone else was downtown at the parade.

Pulling up in front of New York Lutheran University, he'd apparently decided now was the time to make his move. Rather then putting out the cash for a hotel room, he'd chosen to try and molest her in his car... which was a compact.

And so he ran his inept paws over her body with all the grace of a carpenter sanding down a rough wooden floor. Kim rolled her eyes yet again, finally pushing him off. Kim snapped on the radio huffily, reaching into her purse for a cigarette. Obviously mensa material, the goomba opened his maw like a fish to grunt, "What's wrong?"

Drawing in a lungful of smoke, Kim held her breath, hoping the nicotine would serve to sooth her growing irritation. It didn't, "This is not how I invisioned my new years. It's almost midnight and I'm in a god damned Jetta with a six foot tall steroid... and there's no air conditioning!"

"Are you still mad about missing the ball drop? Come on, it's not like I could do anything about it!"

"Christ... You are so fucking hopeless." She rapped her knuckles on the radio as the 10 second countdown to the ball drop began, "You hear that? That's the party I'm missing because of you, jackass! You and your damned Jetta!"

"I said I was sorry. Christ, next time I'll pick you up in the limo, princess."

Snorting out a plume of smoke, Kim began laughing, "Next time? You're so fucking stupid you think there's going to BE a next time! This is the worst date I've ever been on. It couldn't get any worse!"

They sat in silence as the countdown continued, the cheering voices over the radio shouting out, "3...2...1! HAPPY NEW YEAR!"

Rick opened his mouth to speak, only to be interrupted by a body crashing into the hood of his car from a six story fall. The jumper landed with a meaty thud, the windshield shattering inwards as a young girl's face went through it in a spray of glass and crimson.

Covered in blood, Kim began screaming as she recovered from the initial shock. The broken blonde suicide lifted her torn face off of the dashboard, a bloody hand trembling as she stretched it out towards the couple.

Her blue eyes were unfocused, as if she were watching something off in the distance that only she could see. Whatever it was that she saw, she spoke her last words for the vision in an unsteady voice, "... we'll keep it a s..secret. Just between the two of us."

Her body gave out with a shuddering cough, bright red blood bubbling from her lips as her arms collapsed under her like the legs of a folding chair caught in a hydraulic press. She whispered to the faux leather dashboard as she died, "... it tastes sour." Her arm fell over the side of the car, trails of life-blood running down the sleeve of her shirt, covering her silver identification bracelet in red. The fluid settled into the grooves of her name, "Anna", before dripping onto the concrete. Kim hadn't stopped screaming during the entire ordeal.

And she didn't stop screaming for sometime...

Opening his eyes lazily, Count D was stirred from his quiet contemplation by the sound of the tea kettle. The iron pot had begun screaming from the stovetop. The Count reached out to draw it off of the fire sending Q-Chan scurrying across to his other shoulder. Resting the dark iron pot on a slim black service tray, D opened the cupboard, drawing out his favorite ivory cup.

Tapping a nail against it experimentally, he quickly set it down next to the kettle. Looking over his shoulder, the Count's sour yellow eye focused on the grandfather clock across the kitchen. Noting the time, he reached out to retrieve a second cup for tea, expecting company.

As he left the kitchen with the steaming tea, he could hear the jingle of the shop bell followed by the sound of the door being slammed. His guest was nothing if not predictable... it had gotten to the point, D could set his watch by the blonde police officer. Resting the tray down on his red laquered table, the Count waited as Detective Orcot slowly descended the stairway.

Leon's unkept hair was casually bound as usual, and his face tended to with the same lack of care, unshaven and blotchy. With his hands shoved deep into his jeans pockets, the detective's body language was as blunt as his conversational skills.

It was VERY apparent that Leon was irritated this afternoon. Not that the Count expected him to be any other way. Leon never made a strictly social visit, only showing up when he was suspicious of D. D bowed graciously, his right arm folding across his chest as he lowered his head, "What a pleasant surprise, Detective. You're just in time for tea..."

Leon took a moment to compose his thoughts as the cup of tea was set on the table in front of him. As usual, he didn't touch it. Leon had never tasted the tea in all the time he'd come to visit, as if he were distrustful of it, "I just got back from the morgue, Count. It seems a client of yours, Mr. Jack Riley, was found dead at his apartment. The coroner hasn't figured out what's lodged inside his sinus cavities. He thinks it's amphibian. You have anything you want to confess?"

The Count extended a well manicured hand to the sofa at his left, offering Leon a seat before taking his own. He seemed to ponder the question before replying softly, "... no. I don't believe so, Detective."

"No?", Leon's eyebrows raised at the response, obviously suprised to hear it, "You're trying to tell me you didn't sell it to him?"

"You misunderstand detective... Point of fact, I did sell "it" to him. But it was most certainly not an amphibian I sold him. It was a bird." D closed his eyes as he brought the cup to his lips, covering a naughty little smile.

"You think that's funny, Mr. Fashion?"

Stern of face as he set the ivory cup down, D brushed his hair back from his sour yellow eye. Staring at Leon, the slender asian was again humble as he spoke, "... no, I apologize if the comment was in poor taste. I am saddened to hear of the tragedy. In truth I thought the two were a perfect pair, and I expected them to spend many happy years together. I believed I was sending him to a good home. I was specific in my instructions, that the animal was not meant to be caged under any circumstances."

"And I'm sure there's a contract..."

"Of course... as you know, we opperate within the strict confines of the law, Detective. Mr. Riley wanted to..."

"Skip it..." Leon muttered, slumping down in his chair, long hours without sleep taking their toll. He was starting to feel extremely tired everytime he came to visit. It was getting to be redundant. In the end, all he got out of these visits was a good campfire story and a danish, "Just skip it, Count."

"It? What is it you wish me to skip, Detective?"

"The story. I'm not interested in knowing why some poor guy deserved in some round-about way to have his pet goldfish chew off half his face, and burrow six inches into his skull."

"Then you've wasted your time, Detective... if you don't want to know why, what do you want?" The Count lowered his eyes, obviously a bit disappointed by the conversation's turn. "Your tea is getting cold."

"Screw your tea, pal. Don't you think you have an obligation? Yeah, sure... they didn't follow instructions or whatever, but you knew. You always seem to know when they're going to screw things up. And you don't do anything! That makes you a murderer, no matter how much you think they deserve what happens."

The Count's eyes lit up as he smiled a thin predatory little grin at Leon. The detective's stubborn and over-zealous nature were one of the things he most admired... even if there wasn't much of a brain in his thick head. It was like speaking to a self-righteous child. Leon was a true American, thus he couldn't help over-simplifying his ideals of good and evil, "... obligation? "Caveat Imptor". That is a western expression, Detective. Let the buyer beware."

Taking a thoughtful bite of his raspberry and lemon coffee cake, the Count let out a soft murmur of approval at the pastry. Closing his eyes as he savored the sweet cake, he removed the spoon with deliberate care, his tongue cleansing the last crumbs from the silver. With a sudden start, D opened his eyes again as if a thought had just occurred to him, "But... let us speak of obligations. How often do you work on my case, Detective?"

"I've devoted too many hours to nailing this petshop to give up on it, if that's what you're trying to get at, Count."

"But there are other cases, are there not? Should they not be pursued with equal..." D leaned forward, smiling a reproachful little grin at the detective, resting his hand next to Leon's as if threatening to touch him, "Zeal?"

Drawing back his hand as if recoiling from a snake, Leon glared at the slender oriental, before slumping back into his chair. He didn't like being manipulated, which was something of a shame, because it seemed as if that was Count D's favorite hobby. "I do my job, pal. Don't change the subject. You're a menace."

"I do not change the subject. The subject is obligation, Detective. When was the last time you opened another case file? Days? ... weeks?" D was silent for a moment while Leon pondered the question, taking another petite spoonful of his cake. The look on Leon's face was telling enough. The detective couldn't even remember the last time... The Count blew across his tea, whispering in his light accent, "You will not "nail" me, Detective. Ever."

"You think you're smarter then me? You've just gotten lucky so far, Count."

"... I do not think so. I believe even you have started to realize you will never arrest me, even if you can not admit it outloud. You do not WANT to in the end."

"Ha! So you're saying I should just give up? Right. Nice try, happy boy."

"... no. I am saying you have other obligations. Perhaps you should tend to them as well as your little crusade. Do you ever gamble, Detective?"

"Everytime I order takeout."

"I am going to do you a great courtesy, Detective, and inform you that tonight I am expecting a new aquisition from Germany... it is really quite something, and I will be indisposed for a some time. It is one of the last of a very rare and exotic breed."

Leon stretched out on the elegant laquer couch, resting his arms behind his head as he muttered disinterestedly, "Aren't they all? What're you getting at, Count?"

"If I may be so presumptious as to make a suggestion, you could always try spending a little time looking at your other cases while I am tending to my affairs. Call it an armistice if you like. Unfortunately Detective, I do have a guest arriving shortly, so I must be saying goodbye..."

At the mention of a guest Leon opened an eye, glaring suspiciously at the merchant, "A guest? Anyone I should know?"

"Perhaps... a professor with one of your local colleges, Dr. Victor Fortier, made an appointment last week to view my recent aquisitions."

"Doesn't ring a bell... What about this aquisition he's coming to look at? It's not going to chew off his face is it?"

The Count took another thoughtful sip of his tea, murmuring softly, "You always bring up the most unpleasant things at my tea table, Detective. Dr. Fortier purchased a dog from me some time ago... I believe he is looking for a female to breed with it. I have the unshakable affection all merchants have for repeat business."

"Whatever, Count. Just don't sell him anything carnivorous." Leon fumbled in his coat for a cigarette as he turned to leave. Lighting up as he ascended the steps, the detective muttered back at the Count, "... the way you run things I wouldn't think many shoppers would survive their first purchase."

D's purple lips curled into a smile once more at the comment, the oriental man bowing his head quietly as the Leon closed the door behind himself, "No... there are not as many regular customers as I would like. Good day, Detective."

Looking up from his ledgers as the shop bell rang, D waited for his guest to descend the steps before he moved to greet him. With his customary bow, the Count offered a warm friendly smile to the fidgety young man, "Welcome Dr. Fortier... it has been some time since you have graced our humble shop with your presence. How is your dog... Champ, is it?"

"Champ it is... But he's my wife's dog." Victor Fortier was a small man. Despite his tidy and well groomed appearance, he looked like a young boy who had been forced into his sunday finest by a doting mother. He was the sort of fellow who was so very uncomfortable with himself, that he made people around him self-concious... as if his nervousness was contagious, "Champ's fine. Chained up in my wife's backyard... in back of her house... next to her Mercedes."

"I see... I had not heard of the seperation. I apologize for my ignorance... and your misfortune. I am told that many hardships are the precusor to a positive change in ones life. What is it that brings you to my shop this morning? Did you wish to purchase another dog perhaps? We have a litter of welsh corgi's. Though they are of show quality, they would make lovely pets to any home."

Victor folded his hands behind his back, walking off to examine the store shelves with the nervous look of a man trying to figure out how to phrase an unusual request. The Count indulged him, allowing Victor a moment to compose his thoughts, "... I heard a rumor, Count D. People say that you're a dangerous man. That you can... arrange things."

"Arrange things..." D raised an eyebrow at the phrase, his almond shaped eyes fixed on the fidgety little man, "I am forced to remind you... english is not my native language. You will have to speak more clearly."

"I want to make my wife pay, Count. She's been along for the ride for years, spending my money and screwing around behind my back. Now... she's hired some private detective to dig up crap on me. I want some leverage on her. And everyone says that you can arrange that."

"Everyone? You should be careful, Dr. Fortier. "Everyone" tends to exaggerate. Your wife must be quite suspicious of you to hire an investigator. Have you been unfaithful?"

"... what the fuck has that got to do with me paying her alimony? I'm not good at sugar-coating the situation, Count D. She was a trophy bride... and she was about due for a trade-in BEFORE all of this crap. I have money. Can you help me or not?"

"I believe I understand your desire now Doctor, and I am obliged to remind you that this is a petshop. We only deal in the business of selling pets." Scowling at the slender shop-keeper, Victor made his way to the door, stepping past the Count. A slim hand on his shoulder forced him to pause mid-stride, "That having been said... I believe I have just the animal for you, Dr. Fortier."

"Animal?" The professor snorted, passing the shop-keeper a knowing smile. If he wanted to play word games, that was fine with Victor... as long as his wife got hers. "Tell me about this animal."

"I assure you, doctor, it is everything that you desire. Follow me please..." The Count held out an ornate black key in a well manicured claw. Unlocking the door to his basement stairwell, D began his descent into the darkness with the professor in tow, "Watch your step please, Dr. Fortier."

While the smell of jasmine incense was strong in the shop itself, it was overwhelming in the stairway. Victor wasn't sure what was going on, but the sound of animals was growing louder with each step he took. Rattled now by the rather unusual circumstances, Fortier tried to strike up a conversation as they continued down the stairway, "So... tell me about this "animal", Count."

It had grown steadily darker as they traveled down. It was now so dim that Victor found he could hardly make out the lithe shape of the petshop owner ahead of him. D turned to look over his shoulder causing Fortier to jerk back. The Count paused to light a candle, his softly smiling face illuminated by its warm glow, "It is a very old species... At one time domesticated by the gaelic tribes, before Christianity was forced on the British Isles. She is a carrion feeder."

In the split second before the candle had been lit, Fortier was sure that the Count's yellow eye had been glowing... Shrugging it off, Victor offered a forced little chuckle, "Carrion feeder? Sounds like my wife's lawyer..."

Either not catching the joke, or not choosing to humor his client, the Count continued speaking, "The animal does not care for meat, prefering those parts which even the worms spurn to devour. The bones, the hair, the nails..." Pausing at the end of the stairwell, D held up his candle, lighting the way into a massive display area. The massive room was all red stained wood and gold trim, totally devoid of furniture. The uncluttered room was ringed by doorways, massive purple curtains draped across the length of them, as if hiding numerous little showrooms.

"We have arrived, Dr. Fortier." So saying, D drew back the first curtain slowly, the dim candlelight illuminating a tiny form squating on the hardwood floor. As he came closer, Victor could see its arms and legs were covered in ragged yellow-stained strips of guaze, giving it the look of a victim of Egyptian mummification. Long, full tresses of unwashed black hair framed a face hidden behind a heavy steel mask that covered its eyes.

"Is this thing alive?"

"I assure you, she is very alive. She is from the British Isles as I said... they call her breed many things... corpse candles... boogies... this particular breed is from the genus Tommy Knocker, the species Chatter Grave." D reached out a slender hand to clutch at the pale girl's fingers, lifting her to her feet gently. Eeriely graceful as she stood up to her full height, the Chatter Grave was no more then five feet tall, her body covered by the tattered remains of a black dress. The blueish-white skin of a corpse was visible beneath her tattered ensemble, "She calls herself Nelly..."

"This thing would scare the crap out of my neighbors."

"I doubt that Dr. Fortier... as one stipulation of possessing this creature is that you are not to show her to anyone else."

"I wouldn't WANT to show it to anyone else! It looks like a corpse! What the hell would I do with this thing?"

"I apologize, but I beg your indulgence for another minute. This particular breed was known for its unusual eating habits... legends claim the Chatter Grave was bred for its refined palate as well as for their exceptional beauty. So sensative were its oral senses, it has been said that they could taste sin. The Chatter Grave could divine a person's darkest secrets from no more then a lock of their hair..."

With a meaningful glance at Victor, Count D brushed his claws across the black steel mask. Nelly pressed her face into his hand like a cat, as if she could feel the warmth of his fingers despite the two inches of metal hiding her face, "For instance, Doctor... this creature could tell her master if his wife were unfaithful... and with whom... and where. She could tell her master the dreams and hopes of his wife... and of anyone whom you could wish. No secrets would be kept from the owner of this creature. Nothing could be hidden from the Chatter Grave."

"..." If it were true, his little legal problems could very well vanish... especially if there was something particularly juicy his wife was covering up. It could at the very least take a little bit of the bite out of her lawsuit.

And there was something beguiling about the thing. No secrets would be kept from the owner of this creature. Victor was a therapist at heart, his doctorate in psychological studies was just a piece of paper. He'd gone through the years of schooling and experience for one thing... to understand the human psyche. If this beast could truly TASTE the root of madness, then... "How much?"

The Count smiled at Fortier as he blew out the candle, "There are three sales terms to which you must agree before I can sell you the animal, Dr. Fortier." It was once again terribly dark, and it was only by listening to the Count's voice that Dr. Fortier was able to find his way out, "First... you must never be show her to anyone... Secondly, she is a creature of mystery. Do not remove her facial wrappings."

"Third and most important... Do not lie to the Chatter Grave. Her love for her master is such that she can forgive anything... except keeping a secret." The Count explained as they returned to the main floor. Despite being so poorly lit, the shop seemed terribly bright to Victor's eyes.

His key-ring rattled as D selected a heavy industrial lock-key. He nodded towards a yellow parchment on the lacquered bamboo coffee table, "That is your contract, Dr. Fortier, repeating the terms I have just explained to you." The merchant unlocked the featureless steel mask that blinded the Chatter Grave, "Sign on the line please."

Keenly focused on the professor's hand, D watched Fortier scrawl out his name, only removing the black helmet from the girl when the last t was crossed, "Please, introduce yourself to her, Dr. Fortier."

Beneath the featureless black mask her face was bound in the same sickly yellow guaze... but it was a distinct improvement. In fact, Vic found her full lips to be decidely... inviting for a moment before he came back to his senses. Opening her eyes suddenly, the Boogie took in a deep breath as if she had just woken up, causing Victor to start, "... Nelly. I'm... Nelly."

"Hello, Nelly. My name is Victor."

With the wild blue eyes of a wolf, she focused on Victor slowly, a trembling whisper escaping her lightly rogued lips, "Vic...Victor..." Uncertainty caused her tiny hand to shake as she reached out to grasp his lapel gently, repeating his name, "Victor."

"I believe that she likes you, Dr. Fortier..." D bowed his head, his straight cropped black hair hiding a voyueristic smile. In the end he was a matchmaker of sorts. And he was certain that this was an excellent match... provided the sales terms were follow, "Please be good to your pet, won't you, Dr. Fortier?"

Draining the last of his cold coffee, Leon thumbed through a random file. The names and places kept blurring together, his short attention span already taxed beyond it's capacity. He wasn't cut out for a desk job... He'd always done better with the leg work part of the job.

Tossing the manila folder across his cubicle, Leon rested his head on his arms, utterly bored. Looking at himself in the reflection of his computer monitor, Leon smirked as he stretched out his eyes, making himself look chinese. Mocking the Count's foppish accent, he mumbled, "I am going to do you a great courtesy Detective." Leon snickered to himself softly as he buried his face in his arms, ".. jerk."

"You're talking to yourself again, Leon." Jill folded her arms across her chest, somewhat amused at the sight of a federal agent passed out on his desk like a preschooler. However, she was fairly sure neither the chief nor the tax payers would find it particularly funny...

Having sat upright in his chair as if he had been jabbed with a cattle-prod, Leon shook his head irritably, "... sorry. But damn it, Jill! That guy makes my skin crawl! Today that tea-swilling jackass was making it out like I was obsessed with this petshop case!"

"... and?"

"What do you mean and?"

The young woman paused, adjusting her glasses to buy a bit of time to think of a nice way to say it. Unfortunately there wasn't any polite way to tell him, so she just blurted out, "Well, you ARE obsessed with that shop. It's all you talk about..."

Jill shook her head as she yanked a styrofoam cup from the coffee machine, filling it slowly as Leon sputtered, "It's not like it effects my work!"

"Oh? If a file doesn't have some link to the petshop, you always just send it over to my desk to file it in someone else's case-load. You might not keep track of those things, but I sure do."

Jill set down the fresh cup of coffee in front of the haggard detective, before continuing, "Look... You're a good detective Leon... and a good man. You always rely on your instincts, which in your case they're usually right... So if you say he's a menace, he probably is. But there are worse things out there then some weird shop-keeper in Chinatown. Like that Stith case."

"... Stith?"

"Come on Leon! Don't you read any of these things? Anne Stith? She jumped off of the roof of N.Y.L. University on New Years."

"Why the hell are we even involved in this? Shouldn't local police handle a suicide?"

"Well she has some form of paranoid schizophrenia... her doctor said she was always feeling sick to her stomach for no apparent reason. She had traces of a drug called Cetraminacin in her system... it's a synthetic that's been used in Europe to treat depression."

"... in Europe?"

"The F.D.A. hasn't approved it stateside. It's only available for clinical trials."

Taking a sip of his coffee, Leon muttered to himself, "... bad luck for N.Y.L."

"Hrmmm?"

"Well I was just thinking... a professor from there was at the Petshop this morning."

"... oh sure. You're not obsessed at all, Leon."

"Okay, so I'm paranoid. How about this... can you find out who has access to that cetra... whatever stuff in New York? It can't be a big list, even in THIS city if the F.D.A. hasn't green lighted it yet."

"That's the old Leon talking. I'll get it by tommorrow... why don't you get some sleep? The bags under your eyes have carry-on luggage of their own."

Stretching out, Leon found he couldn't really argue. He was well past his limit. He snagged his jacket as he got out of his chair, waving over his shoulder as he made his way towards the elevator, "Thanks Jill... I owe you one."

"While we're on the subject, when are you going to make up for those dinners you owe me?"

"... look at the time."

It hadn't been hard to find one of Karen's hairbrushes... Even though his wife had moved into their "summer home", Victor still had lots of her crap lying around the house. It was how she marked her territory, he was sure.

Removing a tangle of blonde hair from the brush, he was hit with a wave of nostalgia for the good old days with his wife... which was quickly over taken by a wave of nausea.

There weren't many good days... and they seemed to have gotten worse with each year. A screeching harpy of a woman, Karen had grown more unplesant in direct ratio to each pound she'd added to her once zaftig frame. Oh how Victor had grown to hate her high pitched voice, regardless of how cute it had been when they'd first met.

Nelly on the other hand was as quiet as a mouse, simply sitting in his recliner... not breathing. If he took the time to examine her closely, Victor could scarcely percieve the slight rise and fall of her chest, but it was unnaturally shallow. Her eyes were the only thing alive and moving, constantly tracking him, afraid she might miss something important if she blinked. It was at the same time comforting and a bit annoying...

Spreading out the tangle of hair on a plain white plate, he looked at it somewhat curiously. Did she really eat this crap? Fighting the urge to garnish the plate, if only to give her something more to eat, Victor set the small plate down on the coffee table.

Backing up slowly, it was his turn to stare at her with fascination. Creeping forward with a fluid grace that came from either extreme double-jointedness or a lack of bones, Nelly seemed to flow off of the recliner. Sweeping forth, she brought her bandaged face within an inch of the blonde curls to sniff. The Boogie stopped short of devouring it to gaze at Victor out of the corner of her eye, "Is for Nelly?"

"... go on. You can have it, Nelly. It's for you."

A small pink tongue unfurled itself from her pale lips, as she cradled the plate between her hands, protecting it like an animal. The sight reminded Victor of nothing so much as a child with an ice cream cone as Nelly ran her tongue along the hair lapping it up like cotton candy.

The entire process took almost fifteen minutes, the young woman dining leisurely, as if savoring each moment. Stepping back from the empty platter at last, Nelly returned to her perch on the recliner, silently staring at her owner.

"Well?"

"... you were never there for her."

"What?"

"You were always helping others, but never her. Karen hated that. She was jealous... then she was suspicious. Those long hours... what were you doing? Karen started to hate you for making her feel so uncertain all the time."

"...that's fucking typical. She's a basketcase and it's MY fault. Nelly... tell me something else. Tell me something that she's ashamed of. Tell me her secrets."

"Karen was so sad... she was always moping around towards the end. It was as if her soul had died... the body just had to catch up to it. She sat with the barrel of your gun in her mouth... quite a few times. The gun oil tasted so... sour again the back of her throat."

"Nelly? Tell me what I want to know. I don't care about what was BOTHERING that slut. I want to know something juicy... something she was hiding. Was there something my wife didn't want me to know?"

"... yes, Victor. She did something... something terrible." Nelly moved with a frightening alacrity, leaping from the recliner to straddle the doctor in the blink of an eye like a wolf felling a deer.

Looking into her glacial eyes, he let out a shuddering breath as she leaned in close against him. Her breath was hot against his ear, her pink tongue snaking out of her mouth to lick her lips. Too frightened to move, Victor held his breath as the creature drew a deep breath of its own, as if tensing to strike.

She began whispering softly in his ear... All of his wife's hushed sins and neccessary evils slipping from Nelly's violet lips. Victor's eyes widened as the story of his wife's darkness continued, a smile creeping to his face.

Like a psychic strip tease, the hidden darkness of his wife was exposed... the time she cheated on the exam in college... the dog she'd run over during a road-trip two years ago... the mini-skirt she'd stolen from the mall when she was in high school.

It took almost three hours for Nelly to run out of stories... Victor was damp with sweat as she got off of him, his lungs working like a bellows. The small woman crawled back into the recliner as he struggled to catch his breath. With trembling hands, he tore through his coat pockets, finally finding his cigarettes.

With a shuddering hand, he reached for the phone, a smile spreading across his face. Nelly watched him wordlessly, tuning out the conversation as she savored the taste of Victor's wife. Karen... so much shame... so much sin... She had tasted bitter.

Nelly's ears lifted slightly as Victor smiled into the reciever his wife blubbered softly on the line as she broke down into tears. Served her right. Nelly could hear her trembling voice on the other line, "How did you...?"

"Does it matter? I guess you're not the only one who can hire a private dick. By that I mean a private investigator. Not the other kind of dick you've been blowing my money on, sweetie. We're going to have a little discussion tommorrow... without your lawyer. Set a few things straight. ...I'll call you."

Hanging up with a smile of sadistic satisfaction writ large across his lips, Victor played idly with his lighter. Nelly's eyes narrowed at his malicious grin, reminding herself that her master was just. Karen had so much sin... she was getting everything she deserved. After all, her master was just and true. While Karen left a bitter aftertaste on the tip of her tongue.

Nelly already knew Karen wouldn't meet her husband tommorrow. She also knew what Karen was doing right now... Nelly had tasted her secrets and knew how the woman thought. Right now Karen was pressing the gun to the back of her throat, choking on the cobalt steel and the sour twang of gun oil.

And this time she would pull the trigger...

Shifting from one foot to the other as the elevator ascended, Leon began to doze. The "ping" of the door opening woke him up suddenly, prompting the blonde to start shuffling towards the office. He was early... it was a first, but he was early. So early that it was like a cemetary, the majority of the homicide squad out and about on duty or just plain out.

As usual however, Jill was waiting outside the chief's office, filling out paperwork. She didn't seem to ever go home..."You're here early, Leon. I thought you were going to get some sleep?"

"My heater's broken, so I slept on the floor of the kitchen in a sleeping bag... with the oven on. I think I threw my back out."

"So much for the resiliency of youth." Jill's eyes strayed to the pink cardboard container in Leon's hand, a smile stretching out across her face, "Oh! Hotel De Marse'? You didn't have to buy me breakfast."

"... you're welcome to them. They taste like cardboard to me." Leon mumbled drowsily, tossing the box of pastries on her desk. Jill cracked open the intricately folded seal on the box, taking in the escaping aroma of fresh pastry, "Aren't these tarts expensive? I thought they only made fifty a day."

"Thirty actually. Yeah, you have to get in line at six o'clock in the morning to get your hands on any. Is there any coffee made?"

Ignoring the question, Jill took a petite nibble from a lemon creme'. Nodding her approval, she made a face at Leon, pointing her fork at him as if it were a deadly weapon, "Forgive me for being observant, but you spent twenty bucks for two cakes that you think taste like cardboard?"

"Yes. Yes I did." It was force habit actually. Every Tuesday they had the blueberry and lemon creme' tarts, which seemed to be the Count's favorite. Like Jill always said... pull when you want to push. But with the petshop closed today... he wasn't sure what the hell to do with the damned pastries. "I don't get what the Count sees in these things."

"Leon... you eat week old street hotdogs by the truck load. French cuisine is subtle... it's for a refined palate. Look, take a bite." Jill held out a fork-full of ten dollar pastry, as if Leon were a stubborn child she was trying to hand feed. Cautiously, he bit down, chewing slowly on the flaky tart, "Close your eyes and taste it."

"... styrofoam."

"No, I mean really taste it. You're not looking for a burst of flavor... it's a subtle little tickle of lemon across the tongue."

"I'll stick to twinkies."

Jill sighed, giving up on the blonde, pulling the box back towards her desk, "Then you won't mind if I take yours too. These are so hard to get! There's fresh coffee brewing now, and I got some information on that Cetraminacin. It's a hormonal compound that gives a feeling similar to a rush of endorphins, like a runner's high. In addition to which, it..." Noting the blank stare on Leon's face, Jill sighed, explaining in blonde terminology, "They're happy pills. They kick start a feeling of euphoria and pleasure. But the F.D.A. is leery of it."

"Why?"

"Well, it could possibly be used as a kind of date rape drug... it's a hormonal stimulate you see. In certain doses it could concievably be used as an aphrodisiac. You have to be careful with it, over-dosing is bad... it causes hallucinations, paranoia, and migraines."

"Did you get the list of who's running trials with these happy pills?"

"That file's on your desk. Don't tell the chief about this..."

"What, why not? Is it some kind of sensative material or something?"

"No. But he might have a heart attack if he found out you were doing some real detective work. Good luck, Leon." Jill called after him as he made his way towards his desk. Flopping down in his seat, he tore open the file.

Fifty names were scrawled out in tight spidery scibbles, half in the placebo group which he could ignore. Twenty five people to question? No sweat... Running his finger down the list, Leon frowned. No Anna Stith was on the list.

Flipping through the autopsy file, Leon confirmed again that she'd had Cetraminacin in her system. How the hell had she gotten her hands on the drug then? His train of thought was derailed as the chief slammed his fist down on the file folder, shouting into his ear, "LEON!"

"Wha? I was working!" Leon winced, startled by the sudden arrival of the chief. By the look on his face and the red tone of his skin, the Captain had been shouting for some time... Leon wondered if he had dozed off or something?

"We've just got a reported suicide, Leon. Get your ass to Clark and Courts Gate on Meter St."

"Oh, come on, Captain! I'm in the middle of this! Can't you send someone else?"

The chief shoved a manila folder into his hand, obviously not even considering the request, "There's no one else HERE this time of the morning. Seeing as how you're here so early, you volunteered for the case, detective." The chief watched Leon slink down the hall, his hands crammed into his pockets, when a thought occurred to him. He yelled after Leon, "... AND KEEP AWAY FROM CHINATOWN, LEON!"

Stepping back into the elevator, Leon scratched his fingers through his unkept hair, muttering under his breath, "... jerk." Maybe he would stay away from the Petshop... but there was one place he intended to stop after visiting the crime scene. Maybe Anna's parents might know where she had got the drugs from...

Leon knocked on the door to the small apartment a second time, fidgetting quietly as he waited. The suicide had been open and shut. Some middle-aged house wife who was going through a rough divorce. Much more open and shut then this whole Anna Stith case, it was rather conclusively a suicide.

Which left him with plenty of time to pay a visit to the parents of Anna... if they'd open the damned door. The lock was unbolted just as Leon was about to give up, the red door opening a crack for a mousy faced woman to peek out, "Yes?"

"Ms. Stith? I'm Detective Orcot, I had wanted to talk to you about your daughter."

"... uhmmm I guess you can come in." she murmured listlessly, closing the door to unbolt the guard chain. Leon entered the small apartment, his eyes wandering around by habit. It had the look of a once tidy homestead that had gone to pot in a very short time. Take-out boxes and trash were tossed about carelessly, and over all it stank like rotting food, "Can I get you some coffee?"

"No, I'm fine..." Leon assured her, politely smiling as he looked for a clean spot to sit down.

Ms. Stith already had a massive plastic mug of steaming coffee, the tell-tale aroma of alchohol filling the room. It was more whiskey then java if Leon were to guess by the smell. The woman took her seat on the couch, and took a healthy sip, before sighing, "So... why are you here? Do you all usually spend this much time investigating all the suicides in the Bronx?"

"Well... your daughter is a special case. Did she have any... problems at school?"

"All kids have problems. She wasn't eating much towards the end. Which was a bit of a shock... she was getting so much better. I thought she was pulling out of her little funk."

"Funk?"

"Her father died five years ago... she started complaining about stomachaches and such. She said things tasted funny. Sour. She was very close to her father you see. His death was something of a blow."

"You said she was getting better?"

"Yes, well despite her problems, she was a bright girl... she was on scholarship to NYLU... There was no way we could afford therapy, even with my insurance from work. The campus counselor there was helping her free of charge. A very nice man... charming as well. I think his name was Dr. Fortier."

Leon couldn't help but frown at the name, having just come from the suicide of "Karen Fortier". After dealing with D for so long, Leon didn't believe in coincidence, "Was he giving her any medication?"

Ms. Stith laughed at the question, sloshing her massive irish coffee about, "No, no, no... just a shoulder to cry on. Anna said he reminded her of her father for some reason. She would come back home and write in her journal for hours and hours."

"A journal... could I take a look at that?"

"Well I'd say yes, if you think it'd help... but I haven't seen it."

"Oh... well thank you for your time, Ms. Stith"

With a weary look, she stood up to show him to the door, "Thank you, detective. I'm glad someone else cared enough about her passing to check up on it."

As soon as the door closed, Leon was dialing information on the cell-phone, "Hello? Connect me with New York Lutheran University please..."

Victor opened his eyes at the sound of his door buzzer. Still in his sweaty clothes from the day before, the doctor pulled himself up from the couch, his spine serenading him with a chorus of "cricks" and "cracks" as he sat up to face another morning. He caught a glimpse of a scurrying form out of the corner of his eye that he suspected was Nelly, hiding herself away in the closet.

Victor shouted, "Just a minute!" as the buzzer sounded again. Opening the door, he blinked a few time groggily to clear his eyes, "Yes?"

"I'm Detective Orcot. You mind if I ask you a few questions about your wife?"

His wife? ... had she sicked the police on him for blackmail? Was she that stupid? He took a breath to calm himself, before muttering, "... ex-wife. What the hell did she tell you all this time? The woman has severe issues, detective. I'm a little too busy to deal with this right now. I don't have the time to let her inconvenience me, okay?"

Leon put his foot against the door as the doctor tried to shut it, glaring sternly at the psychiatrist. Already he didn't care for the irritable little man... There was something rotten about him, that much Leon's instincts told him immediately. Aside from which, he seemed like a jackass, "Make the time, Doctor. It's going to be the last time she ever inconveniences you. She commited suicide last night."

"... ah." Was Dr. Fortier response, as if he were a little suprised... but not terribly so, "... come in, please. Look, I'm sorry if I was a bit... you know. It's been a little brutal between us the past few months. Please have a seat... can I get you a drink?"

"No thanks." Leon replied as he sat down on the plush leather chair. The apartment was a stark contrast to the one he'd just come from in the Bronx. Everything was neatly in place, obsessively kept, and expensive by the look. But... there was a strange odor. Leon recognized the incense that D burned, despite how faint it was, "You sure seem broken up to hear about her death."

Victor let out a short laugh as he poured himself a generous glass of scotch, "I'm not. She always said I was emotionally detached. One of the reasons she left me she said. I guess she was right." Taking his own seat, Victor rattled the ice about in his glass, as if he were bored with the conversation already, "So... you said you had some questions?"

"Yeah I did say that. Maybe you want to explain to me why so many of the women who associate with you wind up as suicides?"

Cool as ice, Victor hardly batted an eyelash as he feigned a look of supreme innocence. Leon wasn't sure how good he was as a shrink, but the man was a hell of an actor, "... pardon?"

"Well your ex-wife... Anna Stith... Two women in as many months. That has to be a record, Doctor."

"Ah... Anna. Well, she was a severely troubled young woman. I was trying to help her through it. I'm not just a professor, I'm also the campus counselor, Detective. It's my job. I was sorry to hear about her death though."

"Well, her mother said she was getting better with your help."

"Her improvement was remarkable, yes."

"Right up until she jump off a six story building."

Victor smirked sardonically in his glass, impervious to the little jab, "She always said she had some kind of aftertaste that made her sick to her stomach. Like I said, detective, the improvement in her condition was remarkable, but... she began to relapse about two weeks before she killed herself."

"Have you ever heard of a drug called Cetraminacin?"

The doctor's mask slipped a bit at the question, though only for a moment. He quickly composed himself to reply nonchalantly, "... I can't say that I have."

"Oh... a few of your buddies at the college have been holding clinical trials for it. I guess that you're not in the loop on those, huh?"

"No, I'm afraid not. Well, if there's nothing else I've a bit of work to do." Victor stood up, setting his drink down and moving towards the door. It seemed that the discussion was about over.

"Well, thanks for your help, Doctor." Leon followed the psychiatrist out of the apartment, only turning around after he was in the hall, "Oh, there is one other thing. Ms. Stith said her daugther kept a journal... you wouldn't know where that was, would you?"

"A... a journal? No."

"Well... thanks for your time. Sorry for your loss."

Victor nodded solemnly as he shut the door behind Leon. It was only after he had snapped the bolt back in place that he began breathing heavily. A journal? She was in college for christ sake, surely she'd grown out of that stupidity...

What could she have put in there? She'd never mentioned it to him, which was irksome. After all, he was her therapist! Picking up his glass of scotch, Victor began pacing the room. Alright... he knew Anna. Where would she hide it?

After a few minutes of pacing and drinking, Victor came to the realization he didn't know Anna as well as he thought, because frankly he didn't have a clue where she'd have hidden the damned thing. The closet door creaked on it's hinges, interrupting his brooding as Nelly stuck her head out, her blue eyes following him obsessively across the room.

"... are you hungry, Nelly?" The Chatter Grave's pink tongue furtively licked her lips through the gauze at the mention of food. Unfortunately he didn't have any of Anna's hair laying around conveniently... but he knew where to get it.

It had only been a month since they'd put her in the ground... unfortunately a month was plenty of time for the skin to begin the process of liquifying. She hadn't been recognizable except for her pendant, and it wasn't certain whether that was decay or the six story plunge that was responsible for the poor condition of the corpse.

Regardless, with his gorge rising still, Victor made his way into his living room with a small ziplock baggy full of blonde locks. Resting a cigarette between his lips, he inhaled deeply, his eyes straying to the woman who was still crouched in his recliner. Through the veil of burning tobacco, he felt a bit of nostalgia for the day he'd purchased the thing in the insence filled showroom, "... are you hungry, Nelly?"

Hunched over like a shapely gargoyle, the young woman lifted her head, soft blue eyes peering out from beneath her hair and the layers of yellow gauze. Something in the way she reached up to brush her hair behind her ear reminded him of his wife. Shaking the feeling off, Victor cleared his throat, "Well? ... do you want anything to eat?"

She'd eaten almost a pound of soup bones the night before, delicately prying the meat from the bone with her teeth before demurely spitting the flesh into a napkin. But she didn't seem to have the same ravenous and haggard look she'd had that evening. Still unresponsive, she slid off of the chair, standing upright with the rustle of bandages.

"What is it?"

Nelly didn't say anything, sweeping forward again at the same time very insectile and very feline. Creeping across his living room, she crouched at the side of the couch, resting her head on his lap like an insistent cat demanding attention.

Bemused by the display, Victor reached down to pet her, running his fingers through her soft black hair. Curled up in his lap like this, he couldn't help but notice despite her corpse-like palor she was quite warm...

It wasn't his wife whom she reminded him of this time. Defenseless... totally dependant on his whim... she reminded him of Anna. Lifting her gently from his lap, Victor cradled her face in his hand, his fingers slipping under the bandages to caress her soft flesh beneath. Her lips opened to let out a soft coo, like a dove, her sensuous pink tongue sliding free from her mouth.

Something inside Victor began to stir as he leaned in to trap her tongue in the confines of his mouth, suckling softly as he drew her in for a kiss. The rotten black cotton of her dress came free in great shreds as Victor fumbled to expose her skin to his touch.

Nelly provided no resistance, her rough cat's tongue exploring his mouth, finding it's way across all of the nooks and crannies of his teeth, mapping her way along his lower jaw by touch. Going through the excited fumbling that passed for foreplay between passionate lovers the first time they coupled, Victor continued to savagely undress the boogie. Nelly broke free from the deep kiss to let her tongue run long warm trails across his neck.

Just as suddenly as the strange spell of lust had begun, it stopped, Nelly's eyes opening wide as she pulled back from him. Smacking her lips as if she'd just dined on something particularly foul, Nelly whispered, "... sour."

"Nelly? What's wrong?"

"What made your wife so sad?"

"I already told you, I don't know. What do you care?"

"... you're lying to me, Victor. You know what made Karen sad." Nelly's voice changed suddenly, growing deeper as she mimiced Victor's own tone, "... we'll keep it a secret. Just between the two of us, Anna. No one needs to know about this. You'll be a good girl, won't you, Anna?"

"Nelly, you don't know what it is you're talking about."

"You taste... sour.", She hissed the last word like a jungle cat as she straddled him, pinning the doctor in his chair, "You gave Anna those pills... two hundred milligrams? Isn't the reccommended dosage fifty, Victor?"

"Shut up! She was a crazy whore! I was trying to help her!"

"That's why you gave Anna those pills? Is that why you killed her? Because you wanted to help the crazy whore... or because the crazy whore told your wife about your "therapy sessions"?"

"All she wanted was a ride with the professor for an A! She got greedy, and tried to blackmail me! I did what I had to do!"

"Am I a whore? ... is that why you keep secrets from me?"

"You're not even a whore, Nelly. You're a fucking PET! Get off of me!"

"... are there more?"

"More what?"

"You're keeping secrets from me, aren't you, Victor?" Her grip on his arm tightened painfully, the small girl pulling him towards her waiting lips as if to kiss him again. Her soft pink tongue that he had admired so much, slid from between her lips as she licked across his cheek.

It cut like a razorblade through his soft flesh causing Victor to scream as her tongue scraped through skin and muscle right to the bone. Her small fingers were like a vice as she held him in his chair, her tongue taking away layers of skin like peeling the skin off of an orange.

Victor flailed spastically as his face was removed in a matter of seconds, the Boogie pausing to place a soft kiss on his exposed cheek bone, "I shouldn't tell you, Victor... But I'll let you in on another secret, Victor. Anna wasn't feeling sick because she was relapsing. She was naseuous because she was pregnant. That's why she called your wife, Victor."

Victor's eyes roved about wildly in their fleshless sockets as she leaned in to kiss his other cheek-bone, "It's alright... I forgive you, Victor. Just ... let me have a taste." Nelly's bandaged maw opened wide, her flawless white teeth glistening, "Let me taste your secrets..." She bit into Victor's face, the darkness swallowing the doctor's sight. As Nelly bit down, it sounded for all the world like someone taking a bite out of a crisp apple...

"Mmmm... you DO taste sour, Victor."

Applying his boot to the door, he kicked in the lock, his gun drawn as the door swung open. Victor's deflated corpse was flat on the floor in a boneless sprawl, his rubbery limbs twisted into painful knots.

A pile of discarded age-yellowed bandages were next to the corpse, the knotted strips of linen looking for all the world like a woman embracing the boneless husk of Victor Fortier.

Standing slowly, the Count made his way towards the steps a moment before someone began banging on the door. The Count's smile broadened at the sound of Leon shouting outside the shop. Leisurely making his way up the steps, the Count unbolted the lock, slowly opening the door a small bit to peer out at Leon, "Hello detective. I apologize, but we are closed for the day. I am certain I already explained..."

"Dr. Fortier's dead, Count."

"...then I reccomend you send flowers to the bereaved, detective." D smiled a thin, wicked little smile before opening the door wide to allow Leon into the shop, "Come inside. I'll make some tea."

Leon snarled, grasping the embroided silk collar of the merchant as he slammed the slender oriental against the wall, "When will you stop killing the people? You let him die like that! And all you have to say for yourself is "send him flowers"?"

"... yes. I can say with some certainty there are not many who will mourn him." Unperturbed by the suddenly display of violence, D's mismatched eyes never wavered as

Leon growled in D's face, his grip tightening. D reached out with his slim hand, displaying an immense strength as he pushed Leon away with a powerful shove. Leaving the detective flat on his ass, the Count turned on his heel, descending the stairs slowly, "Now... let's have a bit of tea, detective."

"Obligation... we were talking about that were we not, Leon? It took you less then two days to discover what killed Ms. Anne Stith. Her professor took her under his wing, experimenting illegally on her... taking advantage of her. It is an age old story of the mistress who sought to replace the wife of her lover. There was nothing you could do to save the late Ms. Stith. But Miss Karen Fortier... If you had read the files when they first came to your desk, detective, she would still be alive."

"The hell you say..." D's face was implaccable, silence his only response. Leon snarled at him, "It's not true! IT'S ONE OF YOUR TRICKS!"

"It is no trick, Detective. I am sorry." The Count reached out, his manicured claws coming scant inches from Leon's cheek, pausing as if he dared not touch the man, "... it's human to make mistakes. You didn't know. Your zeal is what makes you beautiful, Leon. You didn't know, detective."

"And you did! You knew. You always know, and you let them die! Who the hell do you think you are?"

"... just a merchant. I sell love, hope, and dreams."

"You sell death. Like those bastards that sell guns to kids."

"There is a saying... guns do not kill people, Detective... People kill people..."

"Oh yeah? Well the guns sure as hell HELP!"

"You are leaving?"

"Yeah. I've got some flowers to send."

"Wait... Do you not want to know what killed Dr. Fortier?"

"... I already know what killed him. You did."

"Leon... I apologize. It was a mistake. I thought you would understand."

"A mistake... like you said, it's alright. It's human to make mistakes." Leon slid the door open with a loud clack, causing the frame to shudder, "So what's your excuse Count?"

D again, only responded with silence as he left.


End file.
